


Crash

by firenewt



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, M/M, Other, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:05:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7630084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collision course of events including Hojo and his plans for world domination, and Sephiroth being all angsty and losing his crackers, and Vincent being morose, and Lazard being chipper yet tortured, and Kunsel being a weaselly super dad, and Cissnei being a woman who does it all and does it well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crash

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crimbly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crimbly/gifts).



> I chose to go for the prompt with all the bonus points! Now its up to the Prof's assistant to grade the paper and decide if I succeeded in fulfilling it satisfactorily! :) 
> 
> (The prompt was "Hojo and a fatal injury - again, era unimportant, AUs welcome. Bonus if it involves Vincent or Sephiroth. Super bonus if both. Super dooper bonus if death for Hojo is sweet release.")
> 
>  
> 
> Special nod to ZiggyPasta for her characterization of Kunsel. Its hard for me to think of him any other way now!
> 
> Thanks also to Square Enix for letting me play in their universe.

CRASH

 **Ten Years Ago**  


The happy hum of the computer tower suddenly stopped. Before the silence truly had a chance to register, a blaring fanfare of victory music blasted from the speakers. Startled, Hojo couldn’t help but flinch, and the supernatant that was the result of two days of careful distillation spilled into the fume hood, evaporating in a puff of green vapor.  


“Dadblast it!” Hojo swore, whirling with his gloved hands held up in front of him like a surgeon, his gimlet eyes glaring through his safety goggles. “Who left those consarned speakers turned up!” Fortunately for the lab techs, it was coffee time and there was no one there but himself. However, it was also rather conveniently coincidental.  


Stripping off his gloves and shoving his goggles on top of his head, he strode to the computer console, angrily grabbing the rolling stool and plopping down on it. He stabbed at the speaker button. The sound continued. He jabbed again. Nothing. “Fudge nuggets!”  


Yanking the keyboard toward himself he attempted to turn off the audio, disable the audio card, ANYTHING! while the racket continued. Hojo was about to shut the whole computer down in frustration, running the risk of losing the day’s data, when the screen was taken over with a burst of fireworks, and the noise of explosions and bursting screamers nearly deafened him.  


And then just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The screen was black, with a cursor blinking in the upper left hand corner, and the speakers went dead in a fuzz of static. A message appeared on the monitor. “data dump complete”.  


Hojo shoved his glasses up on his nose and peered closer. He hadn’t initiated a data dump. And he was damn sure the techs hadn’t. He was the only one with the clearance to do that, as it deleted the last twenty-four hours worth of material on the hard drive and…NO!  


Frantically he tried to get the computer to respond. But the cursor wouldn’t move, his password was denied, the message continued to blink guiltily at him at him.  


He slammed his hands down on the desk and pushed himself back. “What the actual!” The hard drive cleared; the data gone Odin only knew where; the sample lost…it was not only a disaster in terms of wasted time and effort, but it was a security breach as well! Hojo knew very well that this was not just a computer malfunction. Not with the music and the fireworks. But, he couldn’t report it. He couldn’t afford to have IT crawling all over his lab, or worse, the Turks, poking into everything, confiscating his other hard drives, demanding to see his notes….  


His notes! He hurried into the adjoining office. He could start over with those, he’d have to redo everything and it would take longer, but thank goodness he always kept a hard copy of everything! He unlocked the safe where he kept his log book and….found nothing. Could he have left it on the desk, or on a shelf? He scrabbled around through piles of paper and stacks of texts books, searching….  


His private lab was exactly that. Private. The techs were only allowed in while he was there. He was the only one with the security codes to both the lab and the office. He changed them every two weeks. The codes weren’t written down anywhere. It all stayed securely in his head. And now someone, SOMEONE, had broken in and taken everything! Months of work! Data from experiments only he knew about! Ideas for further studies!  


He sat heavily in his chair, flushed and angry, and shoved his glasses upward again. Could the Turks have decided to raid his lab? He knew they were always watching him, but, unless the President had suddenly decided to curtail his research without telling him, he pretty much had free rein to do what he wanted.  


Then his gaze fell on the articulated human skeleton standing in the corner of his office. Its toothy grin seemed to mock him from under the SOLDIER helmet it was now sporting on its cranium. And it hit him. Kunsel. That fizz flipping SOLDIER who made it his business to know everyone’s business! It had to be him!  


Three days later, the media was having a field day at the expense of Shin-Ra. Someone had leaked data confirming that a modified live virus was being introduced into the water supply in the Sector Five slums. After scrambling to cover their collective butts and refute the information, the company had held a board meeting. All the top executives were there. And all the department heads. And Hojo was in the hot seat, for the data had obviously come directly from his section. He had to do some fast talking to appease the President.  


And the incidents continued. Every so often, with infuriating irregularity, and despite Hojo’s best efforts at securing codes; hiding hard copies; downloading data onto external hard drives and even keeping them on his person at all times, sensitive information would be released to the independent press, often causing widespread panic. The company shares would drop. Money and manpower would have to be spent on damage control. And Hojo was often called on the carpet, forced to defend himself and his department. His reputation suffered. The Turks often skulked around his lab, making everyone nervous. Productivity took a nosedive. Projects missed their due dates, going over schedule and over budget. Mistakes were made. The Professor went from being the department head with the most leeway to the one having his every move scrutinized.  


Personally it affected his health. His blood pressure went up and stayed up. Acid reflux became his constant companion. The days of regular bowel movements were over. He developed a nervous habit of having to triple check every door, every drawer, every security code he entered, and couldn’t sleep if he didn’t. And still the sabotages continued.  


But whenever Hojo tried to pin anything on Kunsel, nothing would stick. The SOLDIER always had an airtight alibi. He oozed innocence, with his wide mako blue eyes and country boy freckles. But Hojo _knew_ it was him! He felt it in his roiling gut, whenever he saw the big redhead in the commissary, or heard his irritatingly infectious laugh. He knew it when someone added freckles to the zygomatic bones of his skeleton’s head. He knew it when someone drained the nutrient fluid from his tissue vats and planted marigolds in them. He knew it when all his lab coats came back pink from the laundry. He knew it when someone replaced the Shin-Ra flag in front of HQ with a rainbow flag with his face superimposed upon it. He knew it whenever Anonymous posted a new video on Moogle Tube starting inflammatory rumors designed to derail some of his personal pet projects and discredit him.  


He could just never _prove _that the weasel was behind any of it.  
__

__And thus began the cold war that helped to spark a Planetary crisis._ _

____

 

____

**Five Years Ago**  


____

There was a small knock on the door. If she hadn’t been listening for it, she might have ignored it as a hitch in the air conditioning system, or a noise from one of the other offices. However, their meeting was scheduled for 11 a.m., and it was 10:59. At least he was on time, which, if she was honest, was more than she had expected from him.  


____

“Come in,” she said, running her fingers through her hair.  


____

Vincent Valentine slid into the office, shutting the door carefully behind him.  


____

“Sit.” Cissnei nodded toward the chair in front of her desk, noting that the older Turk’s suit was clean and his tie was centered and properly knotted. So far so good.  


____

Vincent put a hand on the back of the chair, then worked his way around it, not letting go, as if he needed the support. He sat gingerly on the edge of the seat. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?” he asked, his voice low.  


____

“I did.” Cissnei tilted her head, waiting until the he finally looked at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and there were three bloody nicks on the left side of his face where he had obviously cut himself shaving. Or trying to shave. The right side of his face was still covered with grizzled stubble; he must have given it up as a bad job after the first half.  


____

She sighed. “Hands out,” she ordered.  


____

Vincent blinked. “Ma’am?”  


____

“Hold your hands out.”  


____

Reluctantly, he stretched his hands out in front of him, palms down. They were both silent as he bit his lip, trying to control the fine tremors. His forehead became moist with sweat.  


____

“That’s enough, thank you.” Cissnei sat back, picked up a pen and twiddled it. “Here’s the thing, Valentine. I remember you from when I was a rookie. You were good. Damn good. Against my better judgment, and at your request, I put you back in the field. That was ten months ago. And since then you’ve only managed to complete two missions. _Complete_. Not even complete _successfully_.”  


____

She paused, tapping the pen against her chin. “Once a Turk, always a Turk. We take care of our own. But perhaps it’s time for you to step down from active service. Or at least from field duty.” It wasn’t a question, really.  


Vincent swallowed. “No, ma’am. Please. I’ll do better. I can do the job. I _need_ to do it. It’s all I have left! Please, don’t take this away from me, too!”  


Cissnei could see what it cost the man to say those words, to have to ask. And it hurt her to see him like this, and to have to refuse him. “Vincent,” she said gently. “Believe me, I don’t do this lightly.” She leaned forward, holding his gaze intently. “When we got you back, you were barely alive. You’ve done so well, just to get to this point. It’s a tribute to your strength and resolve, both mental and physical. But you’re obviously not functioning anywhere near optimum. You are a danger to yourself and others, not to mention a liability to the company.”  


“I’ll…I’ll do the rehab again. I’ll do the therapy again. I’ll stick with it this time! Just…don’t…” The desperation in his voice choked him.  


“Yes, you will. You’ll do it, and you’ll report to Medical regularly, and you’ll cooperate with the doctors. Operational stress is nothing to be ashamed of, especially after what you’ve been through. We all need help sometimes. We’ll re-evaluate in six months, and then in a year. Understood?”  


Vincent’s long black hair, streaked with silver, hid his face as he looked down, not meeting her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. Understood.”  


“Good. In the meantime, you’re assigned to the Archives, effective immediately.”  


“Yes, ma’am.” He stood, was turning to go when Cissnei stopped him.  


“Vincent. Your gun.”  


Slowly, he turned back. There was such a long pause Cissnei thought he was going to refuse; she really didn’t want to use force to disarm the older man. But then he carefully drew his side arm and laid it on her desk. His scarred hand trembled, and he clearly had to force himself to let it go.  


“Thank you,” Cissnei said “This isn’t a punishment, you know,” she felt compelled to add.  


“I don’t see how it could be otherwise,” Vincent said bitterly, his face set like pale marble. And he turned and left the office, shutting the door quietly behind himself.

 

 **Three Years Ago**  


“Wait! Wait! Wait for me!”  


Sephiroth held the door of the elevator as a disheveled cadet dashed down the hall and piled into the car.  


“Thanks, sir! I’m already late!” The teen was trying to juggle his helmet; a rifle; a supply bag; and a tray of coffee cups. The rich smell of dark roast Banora blend filled the elevator, making Sephiroth’s mouth water.  


“Cadet,” he nodded, not wanting to let on that he didn’t know the boy’s name, although he had seen him around before.  


“Private Lazard Deusericus, sir. I…” The boy couldn’t seem to decide whether to salute or extend his hand for a handshake, and couldn’t really do either with all he was carrying. He flushed bright red and ended up doing a strange little contorted wiggle that made it seem like he had a bug down the neck of his uniform.  


Sephiroth was never one to mince words. His lack of social graces often disquieted others, but, if he noticed, it didn’t seem to bother him. “Where are you taking that coffee?”  


“Oh! I, uh, I was told to bring it for the meeting. Monday morning meeting, sir. For the Firsts and Director Tuesti. I’m late because the line up at the coffee cart was so long.”  


Without asking, Sephiroth took the tray from Lazard. “Fix your hair,” he said, and ignored the boy who frantically slicked his blond bangs back; pushed up his glasses; and slung his rifle over one shoulder and the supply bag over the other.  


The elevator pinged and the door opened. Sephiroth handed back the tray, minus one cup. Lazard took it automatically, his mouth agape. “B-but, sir!” he stuttered.  


“Move it, Private. They’re waiting for you.”  


“Y-yes, sir.” The poor cadet, used to obeying orders without question, trotted down the hall to the meeting room, trying not to spill the remaining cups, and feeling rather sick to his stomach. He was red and sweating when he entered the meeting room, not from exertion but from nerves. He had already failed and it wasn’t even eight o’clock!  


“Ah, there you are. Bring that here, cadet.” Angeal’s deep voice drew him forward against his will. He sidled gingerly up to the table, setting the tray down in front of the First, and then handed the supply bag to Reeve. “Yes, sir, here you are, sirs.”  


“There’s a coffee missing!” Genesis said in a disgusted tone. “What’s wrong with cadets these days! Can’t you count, you little moron! You were to bring _four_ cups, not three! Four! There are four of us!”  


“Genesis, there’s no need to insult the boy,” said Angeal disapprovingly. “What happened, Private? Why are there only three cups of coffee? The truth now, and quickly.”  


“Because I took one.” Before Lazard could answer, Sephiroth sauntered into the room and headed for the end of the table farthest from the high ranking SOLDIERs. The other men in the room, Seconds and Thirds, quickly scrambled to shove over and make room for him. One ended up without a chair and grudgingly stood back against the wall.  


“I don’t recall you being invited to this meeting!” Genesis snapped.  


“I thought it was a general meeting.” Sephiroth lifted a brow and tossed his long silver braid over his shoulder. It narrowly missed flicking the man next to him in the eye.  


“It is,” Angeal said. He frowned, then squared the papers in front of him, tapping them on the table. “He has a right to attend, if he so desires.”  


“I desire.” Sephiroth’s slow smirk made several men shift uncomfortably and someone coughed.  


“Fine!” Genesis growled. “Then sit there and don’t interrupt! And we’re still missing a cup of coffee!”  


“Let it go, Gen,” a soft voice interrupted. Cloud rose, put a hand on Lazard’s shoulder and turned him, giving him a small push. “Go. Take your guard station by the door.” Then he handed the other coffees to Angeal, Genesis, and Reeve. “I’ll do without. Now, let’s get this meeting started. The day is wasting.”  


Angeal nodded and Genesis huffed, but accepted his cup. Reeve was sorting through the printouts Lazard had brought him but waved a hand for them to proceed.  


Sephiroth’s gaze was riveted on Cloud as he dealt with Lazard and then returned to his seat. Cloud glanced once at him and then dismissed his presence. Sephiroth’s green eyes narrowed and his expression grew dark. He had no interest in what was being discussed. His sole purpose in attending the meeting was to irritate the others: the other SOLDIERs who had never accepted him, and who sought to exclude him whenever they could. Technically he held the rank of First Class, but everyone knew he was not part of SOLDIER proper.  


Although Sephiroth had spent his entire life within the Shin-Ra Company, he been educated and trained separately from other children, and then from other cadets. A personalized and rigorous program had ensured that his physical aptitude scores were off the charts for his age group, but his social and emotional development lagged markedly behind. A lack in those areas also meant a blind spot in assessing his own abilities: he had applied for acceptance to the SOLDIER program every year for three years, starting at age thirteen, and been rejected each time.  


At one time Cloud had been his idol. The young man from Nibelheim had also been a prodigy, overcoming his provincial background to rise through the ranks of the army and then through SOLDIER faster than anyone except Angeal and Genesis. Sephiroth aimed to repeat his accomplishments, if not better them. He would not admit, even to himself, that to be recognized and praised by someone he admired was just as big a motivating factor as excelling in competition.  


Cloud had been promoted to Director of SOLDIER two years ago, and with that, Sephiroth’s hopes of being accepted into the program had soared. When the two had finally met, however, sitting down for a private meeting to discuss the teen’s latest application, it had not gone how he had expected. Cloud had gently explained that sometimes a person’s abilities did not all keep pace with each other, but that he should keep working hard and not give up his dream.  


There was a similar meeting the next year. Disillusioned and angry at the unfairness of it all, Sephiroth gave up applying and became moody and withdrawn. After that he had been given solo missions. Ones where he was sent in with minimal support and maximum security briefings. It seemed his particular talent was that of being a Special Force of one.  


Not that there weren’t advantages to working alone. But that also meant that he stayed alone. He had none of the camaraderie of the other men. He was not involved in their off duty outings. He was not invited to join them in the mess. He was not included in their jokes, except to be made the butt of them. He knew very well what they whispered behind his back. Lab rat. GMO. Tank tot.  


He glowered and pouted, shredding the rim of his cup. He felt the last was particularly unfair. He had _not_ been grown in a tank! He had a mother and a father, just like everybody else! If his mother had died when he was born, well, that wasn’t his fault! And all the other men in the room, with the exception of Reeve and the cadet Lazard, were also genetically modified, to some extent. He was no different than them. And if he had been raised mostly in the labs…he supposed he _was_ a lab rat, in that regard. It was natural that he spend as much time with his father as possible, and Hojo practically lived in his lab and office himself. In fact, Sephiroth felt he was lucky to have had so much attention from his remaining parent. The Professor could have farmed him out to the company crèche, or handed him over to nannies and tutors, like the President had with his son. Instead Hojo had taken great personal interest in him and oversaw every aspect of his upbringing. Without him, who knows where he might have ended up. And at least the Professor was always glad to see him, unlike other people he could name.  


Chairs scraped and the noise level suddenly increased and Sephiroth looked up to see that the meeting was over. He had missed the entire thing. And, as usual, no one cared. A few men glanced at him as they hurried to join their comrades, but he was left to his own devices. Rising, he threw his empty cup violently into the nearest trash can and stalked out in the wake of the others.  


He passed Lazard, still standing at his post by the door, as he hadn’t been dismissed yet.  


“Sir?”  


He glanced at the cadet, not sure if it was he whom he was addressing. But the teen’s blue eyes were fixed on him. His plump cheeks were red again, but he was smiling tentatively.  


“What?”  


“Um, I just…I just wanted to say thank you, sir.”  


“Thank you? For what? I got you in trouble by taking one of your drinks.”  


“Yes, sir, but, well, you _did_ show up, with the cup. So they knew I actually _could_ count.” Lazard looked down. “And…sometimes trying to explain things isn’t, well, easy. And sometimes, even when you do explain, people don’t believe you.”  


Sephiroth tossed his braid back, looking thoughtful. “That is true.” He knew this from personal experience.  


“I was wondering…”  


There was such a long pause that Sephiroth began to think that the cadet was just thinking out loud. “Well?” he asked, growing impatient.  


Lazard shuffled his boots and shifted his rifle to his other shoulder. “I was wondering…I know you only train the older cadets, sir, and the Thirds, but…you’re the best, and I was wondering if you might have time maybe to give me some pointers? Maybe? We’re just starting sword drills, and…well, if you wouldn’t mind, some time?”  


Sephiroth cocked his head, surprised in spite of himself. His first thought was to refuse. He had little time to take on a pupil outside of the normal classes he taught. He was not inclined to altruism and had little patience with the younger cadets. But this private had gumption, asking him flat out like that. And there was something about him that intrigued Sephiroth; perhaps he could give him a couple of lessons, and if he was bored, leave it at that.  


“I’ll let you know when I’m available,” he said abruptly. Not waiting for a response, he carried on down the hall to the elevator.

 

 **Two and a Half Years Ago**  


Rory had been cranky and feverish all day. In an attempt to try and distract him, as well as to be able to monitor him more carefully than Kunsel could while caring for the twins, who were both sick with the stomach flu, Cissnei had taken him to work with her today. But phone calls and reports were boring for a five year old, and after a light lunch, she decided to go for a little walk through HQ, hoping to tire him out enough that he would nap and let her finish her work when they got back to her office.  


After the SOLDIER gym and the Infirmary, the Research Division was one of the most interesting places for a child. And one of the most dangerous. Cissnei kept a tight hold on Rory’s hand as they wandered along the corridors, stopping to peek into various labs or look through windows at whatever was happening on the other side of the glass. In general, they did not bring the children here very often, unless it was to Reeve’s workshop. There were too many opportunities for injury, both physical and mental, if they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.  


Today Cissnei had picked the physics wing to show him, and Rory had enjoyed looking at the multicoloured crystals that were being grown under various gravities and the different shapes they produced. They had moved on to the wave lab to watch the water in the huge tank perform its intricate dances.  


Rory pressed his hot face against the cool glass of the tank. “Are you feeling okay?” Cissnei asked. “Do you want to go back yet?”  


“No, m’fine.” he said, his dark red hair sticking up at the front from the moisture on his brow and on the tank.  


“Well, well, what do we have here? A tour for the kiddies?”  


Cissnei turned, automatically stepping in front of her son. The last person she had wanted to see stood rocking on his heels, hands clasped behind his back and glasses sliding down his nose.  


“Professor. I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said coolly.  


“Nor I you.” He gave her a smile that was more of a grimace. “And who do we have here, hm? Hiding in the shadows? Come out, boy. I don’t bite!”  


Cissnei gritted her teeth. Part of maintaining the peace between departments was being polite and civil. She moved to the side, putting her hand on Rory’s shoulder to keep him in place. He was not a shy child, and tended to be too trusting of anyone who seemed friendly. “This is Rory. Rory, this is Professor Hojo. He does special work for Uncle Rufus.”  


Rory held out his hand and gave Hojo a gap-toothed grin. “Hello, sir. Do you do waves?”  


“Uncle Rufus, eh?” Hojo leaned down to shake the offered hand, and Cissnei was put in mind of a vulture checking to see if its next meal was dead yet. She shivered. “Hello, hello, my little man. Pleased to meet you. Waves? Oh, you mean like in the tank! No, I’m just here to visit my friend Professor Saito, who does the waves. We like to have tea now and then.”  


“Oh. Then why are you special?”  


Hojo cackled. “That’s quite the question, there, my boy! Why is anyone special?! But I suppose your Uncle Rufus keeps me around because I make useful things for him.”  


“Like Uncle Reeve? He builds lots of neat things!”  


“Uncle Reeve, eh? Yes, I suppose like Uncle Reeve. But I build things that are alive. Not machines.”  


“My Cait is alive! Uncle Reeve gave him to me for my birthday!” Rory had formed an instant attachment to the robot that he had been given, and nothing could persuade him that it wasn’t alive. Kunsel had to sneak it away from him to regularly ‘adjust’ its programming so it wouldn’t spill the beans on anything private going on in their household. They dreaded the day Rory might find his father digging around inside his beloved cat’s head.  


“Mm, I’m sure, I’m sure. Reeve has quite the talent.” Hojo stroked his cheek with his index finger, cupping his elbow with the other hand. His sharp eyes glinted at Cissnei, who raised her chin slightly and stared back at him. Then he looked down at Rory. “How is your father doing, young man?”  


Rory shrugged. The sudden change of topic didn’t disturb him. As a child he took little note of such. Adults were always doing strange things. “He’s fine, I guess.” He shifted a little as his mother’s fingers dug into his shoulder. “Mama, you’re hurting me!”  


Cissnei instantly lifted her hand. “Sorry.” The hand landed on Rory’s forehead. “Rory’s had a bit of a fever today,” she said to Hojo. “We were having a little walk. But I think it’s time for a nap now.”  


Rory tried to pull his head away from his mother. “I don’t want a nap! I want to see the waves!”  


“Now, now, listen to your mother, child. She’s a smart woman.” Cissnei couldn’t control the blush of anger that painted her cheeks at Hojo’s sarcastic tone. She had never seen him flush once, in all the years she’d known him; his sallow complexion never varied from its waxy yellow pallor. What she wouldn’t give to see him turn beet red with anger or embarrassment just once in her life!  


But for now, he just smirked at her, and she was jolted at the familiarity of that expression. Where had she seen it before? Before she could pin it down, Hojo had turned it into a much more congenial smile and focused it on her son. “Go have your nap, boy. Your health is your most important asset. And when you feel better you come see me in my lab and I’ll show you the special things that I build. I’m sure your mother and father won’t mind you coming to visit a lonely old man!”  


“Do you have cookies?” Rory was practical. There were never enough cookies at home. They were mostly saved for guests. Ergo, visits equaled cookies.  


“I will certainly have cookies.”  


“Okay! I like to visit!” Rory smiled at his new friend and Cissnei’s lips pressed together.  


“We’ll talk about this later. Time to go. Professor,” she nodded at him, and, ignoring Rory’s protests, hauled him out of the wave lab and headed back to her office.  


Hojo watched them go, humming thoughtfully to himself.

 

 **One and a half Years Ago**  


“I don’t CARE about protocol! Or diplomacy! Or interdepartmental relations!” Kunsel yelled, slamming the window shut so the sound wouldn’t carry to the neigbour's quarters. “I don’t want him having anything to do with Hojo! EVER!”  


Rory had been adamant about visiting the ‘lonely old man’, and one look at his lab had entranced him. All he could talk about was going back again, to play with the mice that glowed in the dark, and assemble the human torso model. But his parents were just as adamant that he didn’t. And the more they said no, the more magical the forbidden became. Rory learned that if he mentioned Hojo, his father’s temper would flare and his mother would get coldly quiet. He didn’t understand why they disliked him so much, but he knew he didn’t like the tension it caused between them. It also made him sad. He became quieter and more tentative, not understanding why he shouldn’t share his enthusiasm with his family.  


And, while there was never a formal visit after that initial tour of his lab, that didn’t stop Hojo from pursuing the boy in more subtle ways. He sent small gifts to Rory, not directly to his home, but at the company school. Educational toys and games, you understand. That could be shared with everyone. The teachers were properly grateful that the most prominent scientist in Shin-Ra was taking an interest in their pupils. When Kunsel and Cissnei found out what was going on, they couldn’t really forbid the teachers from accepting such items, and Rory knew full well where they came from.  


And when Hojo stopped by to give a small talk to the class or to see what use they were making of the things he sent, he always made sure to spend a few minutes with Rory, asking how he was doing, looking at his work, and encouraging him to come and visit. Whenever he could, of course. Because Hojo didn’t want Rory to go against his parents’ wishes, no, indeed.  


And when Hojo happened to see Cissnei at a staff meeting, or Kunsel taking his turn on duty in the labs, his knowing smirk had them both frantic at their helplessness. It was a slow laying of the groundwork for Rory to voluntarily shift his allegiance to the Professor, who only tried to give the boy what he wanted, after all. Hojo had all the time in the world, and he was working from a position of great invulnerability. And with that time, the Goddess only knew what he would do with the boy.  


Cissnei curled in her arm chair, massaging her temples. She had returned only yesterday from a three week mission to Icicle, and she was still exhausted. She had been forced to wean the baby, Freya, unexpectedly and early, and while she had anticipated some discomfort as her milk dried up, she had instead developed a raging case of mastitis. The pain and fever had not completely resolved, and she felt depressed and angry and miserable. Rufus had taken the three older children out to the zoo so she and Kunsel could have some time together, and this was not how she had anticipated spending the day. She just wanted to sleep. But Kunsel demanded her attention and she tried to hold on to her temper.  


Hojo was not only undermining their relationship with Rory, but with each other.  


“Kunsel, what do you suggest?! We’ve tried giving Rory alternatives! Introduced him to other specialists. Had him spend time with Reeve. Sent him up in a chopper with Reno. Got him involved in sports. Weapons instruction. Infantry day camp with the other kids. Cooking with Rufus. It always comes back to what he _can’t_ have!”  


Kunsel paced around the living room. “Maybe we should take him down to Detention. Let him see how Hojo chooses subjects for his experiments. Or show him the mako tanks.”  


“No!” Cissnei exclaimed. “I will _not_ expose _any_ child to such trauma! He’s too young to understand any of that!”  


Kunsel sat on the edge of the couch, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. Finally, not looking up, he said “Maybe it’s time to send him away.”  


Cissnei’s head snapped up. “That’s not an option!”  


“Cissnei, if we can’t protect him here…we have to think of what’s best for him. Get him away from this whole situation, send him somewhere where he won’t be…manipulated…”  


“He’ll hate us even more,” Cissnei whispered. “He won’t understand why. He’ll think we got rid of him, that we don’t love him.” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “We could lose him completely!”  


Kunsel’s jaw set and his nostrils flared. His hands balled into fists. “It’s my fault. Hojo hates me. He’s doing this to get back at me. And he’s doing a damn fine job of it!”  


“Don’t…” Cissnei couldn’t say more.  


“Fine.” Kunsel blew out his breath, pushing to his feet. “We’ll leave this for now. You need rest before the kids get back. I’m going out.”  


Third Class Lazard Deusericus wondered what he was doing here again. But the thought was vague, and really, he wasn’t sure if he _had_ been here before. It just seemed so…familiar. The chair was comfortable, his feet were up, his head supported: was he in the rec room, watching TV with the guys? His nose itched and he tried to raise his hand to scratch it. But his arm wouldn’t move. Puzzled, he looked down, and saw the straps around his wrists, his chest and middle, and his ankles. He looked up again, and instead of a video screen, the wrinkled face of Professor Hojo loomed right in front of him. A bright light flicked on, shining into first one eye, then the other. Then it was gone, and he blinked, trying to clear his vision. “Where are my glasses?” he mumbled. “I can’t see.”  


“No glasses. You don’t wear glasses anymore. Not since you became SOLDIER. One of the many perks of mako treatment, my boy, and one which you were more than happy to have the benefit of! I still remember how happy you were the first time you came here without them!” Shoving his own glasses up his nose, Hojo looked down at the clipboard he was carrying. “Now, where were we…”  


Lazard licked his lips. “I’m thirsty. Can I have some water?”  


Hojo pulled up a wheeled stool and sat, taking a pen from the breast pocket of his lab coat and uncapping it. “All in good time, all in good time. Let’s get through the preliminaries first, shall we? Are you comfortable?”  


“Yes.” Lazard felt like he was floating. Quite comfy.  


“Good. Please state your name and rank.”  


“Lazard Deusericus, SOLDIER, Third Class.”  


“Age?”  


“Eighteen.”  


“Next of kin?”  


“N-none.”  


“What is the day today?”  


“Friday.”  


“What did you have for breakfast?”  


“Hash with toast. Red-eye gravy. Coffee.”  


“It was hash day in the mess.”  


“Yes?”  


“You don’t sound very sure. Are you sure?”  


“I think…yes, I’m sure.”  


“What makes you so sure?”  


“Because…because I got extra toast. Sephiroth didn’t want his. So he gave me his.”  


“Interesting. You wouldn’t lie about that, would you?”  


Sweat sprang out suddenly on Lazard’s brow and he paled. “N-no.”  


“Lying is unbecoming of a SOLDIER and a gentleman. It’s not honourable, yes?”  


“Yes!”  


“So you don’t lie.”  


“No!”  


“That’s a lie.”  


“N-no! No, it’s not! I haven’t lied!”  


Hojo reached into his side pocket and pressed the clicker hidden there. It was a small sound, almost lost in the background noises of the lab, the hum of the air scrubbers and computers, the rustle of the mice in their corner cage. But Lazard heard it. The instant it registered he went rigid, trembling uncontrollably, his eyes wide and pupils dilated so much they obscured the blue of his irises.  


“Lovely…lovely,” Hojo murmured. He glanced at his watch, and made a note on his clipboard. “These next questions are going to be a little harder, so think carefully before you answer. But as long as you tell the truth, you’ll be fine. Understood?”  


“Y-y-yes,” Lazard ground out between clenched teeth. He tried to breathe evenly, but the panic sat on his chest and dug its claws into his ribs like a cuahl.  


Hojo shoved his glasses up again and swung slightly from side to side on his stool. “Where were you last night?”  


“In Sephiroth’s quarters.”  


“What were you doing?”  


“T-talking.”  


“That’s all?”  


“Yyy….” Lazard’s face flushed and he moaned. “No.”  


Eyebrows raised, Hojo leaned forward. He clicked the clicker again, and Lazard gasped. “I didn’t lie! I didn’t lie! Please don’t!”  


“SOLDIERs are supposed to be able to withstand a lot more than that, during interrogation,” Hojo said, his tone dripping with contempt. “Such a weakling. Such a disappointment. I’m surprised you even made it into SOLDIER at all!” A tear crept down the side of Lazard’s face, and Hojo scooched up on his stool and stared at him closely. “Does Sephiroth know you cry like a little bitch?” he asked cruelly.  


In his mind Lazard was a fifteen year old cadet again, learning first hand that accepting the Professor’s friendly offer of extra tutoring in return for help tidying up his lab was a horrible mistake. Now he couldn’t escape the results of three years of being broken down emotionally, being told he was useless and stupid and hopeless and weak. Three years of being conditioned to believe that the Professor was the only one in authority that he could trust; that he owed him his commission in SOLDIER; that he lived every day on his sufferance. Three years of learning the consequences of disobeying the Professor when he was told to spy on his friends and superior officers. Three years of learning that lying and evasion meant pain like he’d never imagined: every nerve in his body overstimulated to the point of screaming agony; every joint burning; every muscle stretched beyond its limits…and not a mark on him to prove he hadn’t imagined it all. There were days now that he honestly didn’t know if he hadn’t dreamed it. Until the next time he found himself having a little tete a tete with the good doctor, and it all came roaring back.  


Terrified, Lazard rolled his head from side to side, not caring if more tears spilled. At this point, he just wanted to avoid the pain. He would tell Hojo whatever he wanted to know. He would do whatever he asked. He was a willing puppet.  


“Splendid!” Hojo pinched his cheek in a grandfatherly fashion, and rolled back a bit. “Then what did you do?”  


“Kissed! We kissed! And…I brushed his hair!”  


“Hmm. Hm. Hm. That’s all?”  


“That’s all, I swear! Please!” Lazard whimpered.  


“Hm. What did you talk about?”  


“Nothing! Dinner! We had pizza! Where we might go next summer! Acrylics!”  


What, acrylics? What?”  


“Paints! Painting! He wants to take an art class!”  


“Really! Will wonders never cease. I can guess where he gets that from,” Hojo grumbled to himself, flipped up the sheet on his clipboard and wrote busily for a full minute. Lazard swallowed hard, his heart pounding in dread. He never understood the relevance of most questions he was asked. To him they were random. And therefore he had no idea if his answers were relevant either, and would bring punishment or praise.  


Hojo cleared his throat. “Where did you decide you two would go, in the summer?”  


“We were thinking Cosmo Canyon.”  


“Why?”  


“I don’t know! Neither of us has been there. It seems interesting.”  


“Be that as it may.” Hojo sniffed depreciatingly. “Does he know anyone there? Did he mention any names?”  


“No. I don’t know. No names.”  


“Lazard.”  


“Y-yes..?” Lazard was confused as to whether the Professor was addressing him or referring to his previous question. He didn’t want to displease him.  


“What are we working for?” There was a click.  


Lazard stiffened again. He began to babble frantically, shrinking as far as he could away from Hojo while restrained in the chair, his fingernails digging into the padding on the armrests and his legs straining against the straps holding his ankles down. “We…we are working for a new world! A new order! Pure blood to cleanse the Planet!”  


“And what is your duty?”  


“P-protect!”  


“And whom do you obey?”  


“You!”  


“And who is the enemy?”  


“Whoever you say!”  


“And what do you do with the enemy?”  


“Exterminate! Exterminate!”  


Hojo noted the time once more, made a final entry on his clipboard, and sat looking at his subject for a few minutes. The young man was a wreck, sweaty and shaking, still blinking like he had a nervous tic. “Alright. I think we’re done for today.” He rolled close again, ignoring when Lazard flinched as he reached toward him and pressed a button on the side of the chair. It slowly righted itself from a reclining position, the restraints retracted and in a couple of minutes Lazard was sitting in a normal looking chair, his boots on the ground, gripping the armrests and getting his bearings.  


“I’ll get you that water now. You’ve earned it. Would you like it plain, lemon or strawberry flavoured?"  


Lazard licked his lips, trying to process Hojo’s smooth transition from tormentor to congenial host. “um… lemon..?”  


“Good choice. Coming right up!”  


“Am I interrupting your little lemonade stand?” came a different voice, and Hojo turned to find Kunsel standing next to his desk. His lip curled. “How did you get in here?”  


Kunsel folded his arms and spread his feet, a solid presence that Hojo refused to be intimidated by. This was his domain, and the SOLDIER had violated it once too often! How he had wished to have the weasel as a guest in his chair! He’d show him who was boss! But that was sadly out of reach.  


“Just passing by. Thought I’d stop in. See what you had cookin’.” Kunsel’s sharp gaze flicked around the room, pausing on Lazard. “What are you doing here, Deusericus? Where are you supposed to be? Are you alright?”  


“He’s off duty. He comes by to help an old man with the heavy lifting. So thoughtful, you know,” Hojo answered for him, handing the Third a large glass of water with a couple of thick lemon slices floating in it. “Here’s your water, my boy. Drink up! Can’t let you get dehydrated after all your hard work.”  


Lazard took the water gratefully, downing half of it at one go, then sat quietly holding the glass in his lap. Kunsel watched him for a moment, noting his exhausted appearance, the slight tremor of his hand. Obviously something wasn’t right with the younger SOLDIER, but, right now, it was of secondary importance. He turned his attention back to the Professor, who had clasped his hands behind his back and was peering at him intently.  


Kunsel jerked his head at the Professor, motioning for him to step out into the main lab area. Curious, Hojo followed him. He had an idea why the Second Class had actually showed up in person to confront him this time, instead of sneaking in and leaving him a clandestine calling card, but he wanted to hear it from the man himself. Theirs had been an intricate high stakes game, played out over the last decade, but in making Rory a pawn, Hojo had finally managed to make a move that upped the ante to a level that Kunsel could not let pass.  


Once they were out of the sight of the other SOLDIER, Kunsel turned and stepped in close to the smaller man, looming over him and glaring directly into his eyes. He didn’t touch him, but every inch of his body language screamed that he wanted to. To pick him up and smash him down like a rag doll, until he burst apart at the seams. “I know what you’re doing, you scrofulous pus bucket! You stay away from my son, you hear me! You stay away from my family, you don’t talk to them, you don’t contact them, you don’t have ANYTHING to do with them, you hear!”  


“My dear overwrought cretin,” Hojo chuckled. “I don’t have anything to do with them _now_. What more do you want? Are you sure you’re in the right lab?”  


“Don’t try to deny it!” Kunsel growled. “The school visits stop NOW. No more ‘gifts’, no more donations, no more personal appearances! NO MORE! GOT IT?!”  


Hojo removed his glasses, held them up to the light and frowned. “If you wouldn’t mind stepping back a bit, you ill-mannered gorilla, you’re spitting on my glasses. And it’s no business of yours what I do with my spare time. If I choose to try to inspire budding young minds and encourage them to a career in the sciences, then that’s my prerogative. You have no say in it.” He finished polishing his lenses on his lab coat hem and replaced them on his nose, shoving them into place. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have Important Work to do.”  


“If you don’t IMMEDIATELY stop your interfering, I’ll…”  


“You’ll what?” Hojo smirked smugly. He had the upper hand and was greatly enjoying seeing his nemesis reduced to verbal posturing. “Are you threatening me?”  


“Damn right I’m threatening you!”  


“Wonderful! I do so like a man who gets right to the heart of things! And who is now on record as intimidating and offering to harm an innocent senior!” He nodded in satisfaction. “If nothing else, that’s elder abuse, you know!”  


“Bullshit! You think I don’t know this is one of the few places in the entire tower that isn’t covered by monitors? So no one sees what nasty things you get up to in here? I’ll say whatever I want! It’ll be my word against yours!”  


“And who do you think the board will listen to, hm? The head of the Science Department, whose work keeps this company at the forefront of economic and military supremacy? Or a Second Class SOLDIER with a chip on his shoulder and a reputation for being very, very tricksy? Hm?”  


“Every person on that board knows I have dirt on them. They’ll listen to me, if only to save their own skins!”  


“They might listen, but they won’t believe you. And that’s as far as it will go. You’re barking up the wrong tree, you microcephalic pot licker. Now be a lamb and remove your carcass from my lab. The mako stench is giving me a headache.”  


“They won’t believe me, huh?” Kunsel’s eyes narrowed. “And what about Deusericus? Will they believe him? He looks like he might have a few interesting things to say!”  


Hojo lost all levity. “This conversation is over. Out. Now!” he ordered.  


“Oh, did that hit close to home? Why don’t I just go ask him what he was _really_ doing here this afternoon?”  


“OUT!”  


“I think not. I think there’s going to be some wheeling and dealing done here, and before we’re through, you’re going to be kissing my ass and thanking me for leaving you your skivvies!”  


“No wheels and no deals! I may not have monitors here, but I do have access to Security.” Hojo slammed his palm down on a button on the side of the lab bench. “If you won’t leave on your own, there will be two of your comrades here in just a couple of minutes to remove you! And THEN you’ll have to explain why you were harassing an old man who is just trying to do his job!”  


And as a final salvo, Hojo squinted over the tops of his glasses at the SOLDIER and gave him a death’s head grin. “And when you’re sitting in the brig, locked away for Odin knows how long, _Uncle Hojo_ will step in to comfort a boy left without a father to guide him and protect him, and a mother too busy to attend to all her children. Uncle Hojo will take him under his wing and twist the soft little pretzel into whatever shape he wants!” He cracked his knuckles. “Oh, yes, yes, indeed! He will hate you with the passion of a thousand suns when I am done with him!”  


Too late, Kunsel realized he had played right into Hojo’s hands. His mouth dropped open in horror and his mind went completely blank for a moment as the Professor’s words sank in. He had sealed Rory’s fate himself…. and his own, and Cissnei’s, and the other children….There was no time to think things through, only move, or in moments he would be hauled away and lose the chance to act forever!  


Kunsel had scouted this place many times before and knew where things were. Now he moved with SOLDIER speed. He slammed the hall door shut; seized a couple of jugs; grabbed a garbage can; dumped out its contents, and started filling it with potassium permanganate and sulfuric acid. Then he doused the paper from the recycle bin with alcohol, making sure it was well soaked. If he was going down, he’d make damn sure Hojo went with him! No way would he leave his family to the mercy of such a monster!  


Hojo’s triumph was short lived. He saw the shock and panic on Kunsel’s face give way to a berserker rage in the blink of an eye and felt a flicker of fear. If the Security detail didn’t get here right away, he would be in serious trouble. Then he realized that the big SOLDIER hadn’t made a move to come after him with his bare hands, as he was half expecting. When the scientist saw the chemicals that were being thrown together in the middle of his lab, he knew that he had miscalculated. This was not an army brute. This was a man whose cunning resourcefulness was legendary, and he had underestimated him.  


Deciding prudence was called for, Hojo darted for the corner, tugging on the tall set of shelves that covered the other exit. It had not been used as long as he could remember and now he cursed whatever dingbat of an assistant had decided the space could be used for storage. Kunsel laughed as he saw him struggling. “You’ll never make it, you son of a bitch! You’ll burn in hell before you get past me!”  


Making sure he was standing by the door, Kunsel tossed the soaked paper into the garbage can. It immediately began smoldering. He kept one hand on the door knob, trying to judge just when he could yank open the door and make a break for it without giving Hojo sufficient time to also escape. There was a screech as the corner shelving unit moved a bit, and Kunsel anxiously glanced at the can. Small flames were licking at the edges of the paper. Would it ignite fast enough? He was just about to add more paper when he suddenly remembered…“Lazard!” The young SOLDIER had no part in this! Kunsel couldn’t leave him to burn if he could save him. He had to try! Leaping over the trash can he dashed to the inner office, yanked the still dazed Third out of his chair, and dragged him back through the lab. “Run, man, run!” he yelled, opening the outer door and shoving him through.  


That was the last he saw of him. The draft created by opening the door fanned the fire to a blaze. At the same time, the corner shelf fell over, and hundreds of containers of various chemicals, some volatile, crashed to the floor. The heat and flames grabbed at them, and in an instant the whole place exploded with a huge WHUMP! and flames roared to the ceiling.  


Kunsel thought he saw a white lab coat still in the far end of the room as he dove out the door, the explosion hurling him the length of the hall and into a wall like a human missile. He felt like he was being torn apart and then doused in acid, and his last thoughts before he lost consciousness were that he only hoped he had saved his family.  


Alarms were going off all over the floor, fire doors slammed shut and the ventilation system, designed to contain potentially toxic gases, disconnected from the rest of the building and went into containment mode. The Security detail had just arrived: they grabbed oxygen masks from the emergency kit on the wall and crept forward cautiously. There was no getting near the lab they had been called to; it was an inferno and explosions were still occurring inside. If anyone was left in there, they were beyond help. But as they made a sweep of the corridor, they found the bloody and burned remains of one of their own. Calling for medics, one of them stayed with Kunsel while the other continued down the hall and around the corner.  


Hojo picked himself up off the floor where he had been blown out the auxiliary exit by the force of the initial explosion, straightened his smudged lab coat, and patted himself down, frowning. His glasses were gone, and he was terribly near-sighted without them. Putting a hand on the wall, he took a few steps forward, peering around. A blur in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he looked up at the second Security guard coming towards him, hand outstretched.

“Sir, watch ou…!” was all the man had time to call. The automatic sprinklers had cut in, leaving the floor slick with water that Hojo couldn’t see. As if in slow motion, the guard saw his feet go up, his arms flail out, and heard the crack as the Professor landed on his neck and head and lay unmoving, his lab coat settling around him like the wings of a broken gull. 

 

 **Six Months Ago**  


The beeping of the heart monitor and the slow, steady shush of the respirator were the only sounds in the room. They had been his constant companions for the last year. Twenty-four hours a day. Seven days a week. Day and night. It grated on his nerves. He wished for some peace and quiet. Still, the machines filled his lungs and made sure his heart beat regularly and his oxygen levels were maintained. Other tubes and wires attached to various parts of his body, collecting his urine; filling his stomach; emptying his bowels. Then there were the people who would come and turn him; bathe him; massage his limbs; flex his muscles; suction out his throat; apply moisturizer to his lips; shave him; wash and comb his hair. If he was lucky they would remember to put his glasses on for him so he could see properly.  


Not that there was alot to see. The view out his window didn’t change much. Grey in the winter. Sunnier in the summer. Occasionally rain or a bit of snow. No trees, no birds, and they were too far up for him to see pedestrians or traffic. Sometimes he caught a glimpse of a helicopter as it scudded across his little patch of sky. Terribly exciting.  


The news was boring. Reality shows didn’t interest him. Listening to the staff gossip was hit and miss. If he knew who they were talking about, it might be worth his time. But since he couldn’t respond, the conversation was one-sided. Mostly he stared at the patterns the light made on the ceiling of his room, and thought.  


The monologues he had with himself were always fascinating. He spent a couple of months ranting about his current state of affairs; berating himself for being so clumsy; screaming at that weasel who had somehow managed to best him one last time. He hoped he was dead. He hadn’t been able to ask and no one bothered to tell him. He lamented the loss of his lab, of decades of research. They _had_ told him it was a total loss. Burned out completely. His assistants and protégés carried on with what they had been working on, but oh, all the ideas he had that would now never see the light of day! All the projects he had been working on in secret, those were all gone. And without his guidance, there were some that were left floundering and it ate at him, that now he would never be able to complete what he had started.  


He had few visitors. It had never bothered him before, that people avoided him. He had his work. But now, the hours stretched long and often there was no contact with anyone except the nursing staff for days or weeks. His colleague Doctor Saito came once a month, continuing their tradition. He stayed for exactly one hour; drank a cup of matcha; wished Hojo a speedy recovery; and gave him a tiny bow on the way out.  


Sephiroth came to see him in the first week, as soon as visitors were allowed. Hojo barely remembered that time: between the drugs and the shock of trying to come to grips with what had happened it was a blur of black and white and a deep voice asking if he needed anything. Which was silly.  


After that, Sephiroth showed up whenever he felt like it. He would just suddenly _be_ there, bringing with him the creak of leather and the scent of wherever he’d been, and for a while the antiseptic air would smell alive. He’d stride in and flop in the chair, stretching out his long legs so that the nurses had to step over them and be careful not to trip. He’d watch while they performed whatever task they were there to do, refusing to leave or let them draw the curtain, and they would get nervous and drop things.  


To his surprise, Reeve stopped by in the second month of his confinement, after it had become clear that he was not going to improve, and also that his brain function was intact. The engineer sat and jiggled his leg until Hojo wished he could yell at him to stop, and asked the neurologist intriguing questions. A few weeks later he was back, with a small laptop and a delicate neural net that fit over Hojo’s head and attached to his temples and to the sides of his throat. It tracked his eye movements, allowing him to move the computer cursor with his eyes. And it translated subvocalizations into words on the screen. If the audio was turned on, the words could be heard, albeit slowly and in a tinny monotone. Hojo was greatly irritated that Reeve, who had no trouble gifting his robot cats with a fine brogue, had left him with the sound of a rusty hinge.  


But with this apparatus, life opened up again for the Professor. It took him several months to master the use of both the cursor and how to subvocalize. Completing even the simplest task was exhausting and very time consuming, but he could communicate a bit, and that made a huge difference to someone who had always prided himself on having Important Things to say.  


He greatly enjoyed criticizing the staff when they came to treat him now. They soon found out that he wasn’t the appreciative older gentleman that they'd thought him to be. He stored up questions for Saito all month, so that he could gather information on what was happening; some gossip, yes, but also who was working on what. Sometimes his questions were very specific.  


He created a few files that he could access quickly, and he began to plan again. Inside his head, he chuckled more than ranted now.  


But as the months wore on, even though his mind stayed sharp, his body began to fail. Despite the best care, he became emaciated. His muscles atrophied and contracted. He developed bed sores that became deeply ulcerated, and the necrotic flesh made his room smell like a morgue. He developed a urinary tract infection, and between that, the subsequent systemic bacteremia, and all the medications he was on, his kidneys began to fail. He nearly choked to death several times when his tracheotomy tube became plugged with thickened mucus. His anger returned full force and he lay there and brooded helplessly about the little time he had left.  


Saito took to wearing a mask when he came to visit. He no longer drank tea, and he no longer wished Hojo a speedy recovery. Instead, he wished him peace. Hojo was not amused.  


Sephiroth still came. Irregularly, as always, but he came. He didn’t wear a mask. He sat in the chair next to the window, so the sun lit his hair to a white fire, and fiddled with the end of his braid. He had very little to say. Hojo tried to remind him of his purpose, of all he had taught him, but it was hard to communicate anything complex, even with the computer. The best he could do was to blat out a couple of words at a time in that infuriatingly mechanical voice, and hope that Sephiroth would put the meaning together. It was so frustrating, though; Sephiroth was not very cooperative.  


“remember important”  


Sephiroth would stare at him from hooded eyes and answer sullenly, if at all. “What’s important?”  


“training”  


“All of my training has been important.”  


“be loyal”  


Sephiroth scoffed.  


“they hate you”  


“You think I don’t know that everyone hates me?”  


“i love you”  


No answer.  


“remember”  


And the time came when it was almost impossible to breathe even with the respirator. The alarms on the machines kept going off, bringing someone hurrying anxiously to adjust them. Hojo felt drowsy and fought to stay alert, but kept drifting off in a haze, feeling more disconnected from his body than usual. He was retaining fluid now, inside and out. His lungs rattled. His skin was stretched and puffy, denting whenever anyone touched him and then oozing fluid at the site. Although he could not feel it, it looked bad, and he wished he had made a file full of the worst curses he could think of, just to open it and spew at the nurses and the world in general. 

Cissnei was sitting at her desk, staring at nothing and feeling very swollen herself when the call came from the Infirmary that Hojo was dying. She had not been to see him once, though she had looked in on what the camera in his room showed several times, especially at the beginning when she was practically living at Kunsel’s bedside and had wanted to reassure herself that he was still there and had not magically risen from his bed and escaped before she could kill him herself. She had asked to be informed of any changes in his condition, and now the day had come.  


Sighing, she sent Vincent a text, and waited for him to arrive, smoothing the soft green material over her huge belly. She was wearing a man’s 3XL flannel shirt, the only thing she had right now that fit without being too tight, and that didn’t irritate her sensitive skin. Reno kept calling her Fiona; if she wasn’t a week overdue and so short of breath that she could hardly walk ten paces without puffing, she would have clobbered him.  


She was a bit startled when Vincent was suddenly standing in her office, asking what she wanted. It was cold in the Archives, and he had taken to wearing a cardigan with a black and red diamond pattern on the front; fingerless mitts instead of gloves; and a red scarf around his neck to combat the chill. His hair was longer and unkempt; he wasn’t shaking anymore, but there were dark circles under his eyes, and he never smiled.  


“Well, Valentine,” she said. “It appears that Hojo is finally going to shuffle off this mortal coil. I’m going to pay him a last visit, and I wanted to know if you would like to come with me. One last kick at the cat, so to speak.”  


“Ah.” Vincent looked more animated than she had seen him in years. “Yes, ma’am, I would. Thank you.”  


“You’re welcome. Now, come and help me get up or we may not make it there in time.”  


“Yes, ma’am.” He hurried around the desk to take her hands and pull her out of her seat.

Sephiroth’s phone beeped and he pulled it out to check the message. The cadets detoured around him to continue loading the helicopters, like ants forced to trek around a rock. He stood looking at it for a minute before snapping it shut.  


“Problem?” asked Cloud, appearing at his elbow.  


Sephiroth started, then shook his head. “No, no problem. Hojo has decided to die.”  


Cloud pursed his lips, eyeing the taller man. “Go,” he said. “I’ll head out with the men. You can come later with the supply chopper.”  


“No, I don’t…”  


“That’s an order.” Cloud’s normally soft voice had an edge to it. “Take care of this. Join us when you’re able.”  


Sephiroth jerked as if he had been slapped. “Yes, _sir_!” he all but snarled at his superior, eyes like green glacial ice. Cloud didn’t flinch, and Sephiroth turned on his heel and strode away.  


As he re-entered the tower, he passed Lazard, who was on his way out with his duffle slung over his shoulder. “Seph? Did you forget something? We’re almost ready for lift off!”  


“Come with me.” Sephiroth didn’t pause. Lazard glanced outside where the helos were warming up, and then back where the long silver braid was disappearing around a corner. Then he hurried after his friend.

They were moving through the Infirmary, heading for the Palliative Care floor, with Cissnei waddling and rolling from side to side like a drunken sailor. Vincent had his hand under her elbow and shuffled along, matching his pace to hers, when he felt her stumble. He grabbed for her at the same time as she clutched at him, and they stood there looking at each other for a few seconds. “I think…you better leave me here,” Cissnei said. “I don’t think I’ll be doing any visiting today.”  


Vincent motioned to the nurse behind the Admitting desk, who had been keeping a weather eye on them since they showed up in her domain. He steadied Cissnei as she breathed deeply. “You’ll be okay?” he asked, reluctant to abandon her.  


“Go,” Cissnei smiled at him as an orderly helped her into a wheelchair. “Take care of this. You need your peace. And I,” she grimaced, “will take care of _this_.”

Hojo’s room was at the end of the hall. Vincent paused at the door, steeling himself, not because of the smell or the prospect of facing death. He had dealt with such things many times. But to face the man who had ruined his life for the first time in over two decades was a different thing. The tremors in his hands returned. His heart was in his throat, and he wondered what he would even say. What he _could_ say.  


Silently he stepped in and stood by the end of the bed. He could smell the rot. The body on the bed was misshapen. There were tubes snaking from it in all directions. A small computer sat on the table to one side, with a cable connecting it to the silvery net on Hojo’s head.  


Hojo’s eyes opened, roaming around the room, widening slightly as they landed on the dark shape at the end of his bed. This was a surprise! He’d never thought to see the Turk again, let alone have him appear now! He had decided that he had nothing more to say in his final hours, but this! This was worth making the effort to vocalize!  


“vin cent” came the high-pitched mechanical voice, and Vincent flinched. Although it sounded nothing like the Hojo he knew, it somehow managed to convey both contempt and rude familiarity.  


“I heard you were dying,” the Turk said.  


“couldn’t resist”  


Did he mean he couldn’t resist dying? Or that he knew Vincent couldn’t resist coming to see him at such a time? As usual, the man was playing with him, and irritating beyond belief. He should say his piece and get out before he lost his temper and let Hojo win one last time.  


“Death comes to us all. But isn’t this ironic. You thought you managed to get rid of me, all those years ago, and not only did I make it back, but it seems I’m going to outlive you as well. That must be _such_ a bitter pill to swallow. If you could swallow.” Vincent could see the glint of anger in Hojo’s eyes. Or maybe it was just the light glinting off the lenses of his glasses. He didn’t care.  


“I think I can forgive you for what you did to me. I mean, drugging me, shipping me off to Wutai to be a ‘special guest’ of your colleagues over there. They made me very welcome, you’ll be happy to know. I’ve even been able to publish a paper on their methods of hospitality, all the how-tos and wherefores. We’ve been experimenting with them down in Detention.” Vincent hadn’t spoken so much in years and now it seemed he couldn’t stop himself. His scarred hands clenched in his cardigan, bunching it up.  


“But the thing I cannot forgive you for is taking my son away from me. If you loved Lucrecia you would have respected her choice. And even if you couldn’t do that and leave us in peace, you should have respected her wish to leave Sephiroth with me. You had no right to him! But it was never about love for you, was it? It was always all about control. And you couldn’t stand any reminder of the fact that you couldn’t control Lu. You couldn’t own her, but you were damn well going to own a piece of her! Someone you could train from day one to answer only to you, to fawn on you, to obey your every whim. Someone you could use to further your ambition, your plans to bring back the Ancients and set yourself up as some sort of demi-god for having facilitated their return! You didn’t want a child, you wanted a slave! And, speaking of experiments, you have spent the last twenty two years building that slave. You took my son and made him into a weapon! You’ve brainwashed him with your crazy ideas and left him stunted! Damaged! My son…” Vincent’s voice broke. “I never even had a chance to hold him!”  


Vincent sensed someone behind him, and turned to see Sephiroth standing in the doorway. The SOLDIER's face was as cold and white as ice as he moved into the room with catlike grace, keeping the width of the bed between himself and the Turk.  


There was the sound of boots in the hall. “Seph? Seph, wait up! Where are you going? What’s that smell!...gah..!” Lazard burst into the room a few seconds after Sephiroth, his hand over his nose. He stopped short, taking in the tableau before him. Then he recognized the figure in the bed and stumbled backward, coming up smartly against the wall and pressing against it, ramrod stiff, his eyes huge over his hand.  


“my boys. here. together.” The rusty voice made Lazard jerk, and colour bloom in Sephiroth’s pale cheeks.  


But Vincent’s attention had left Hojo. He reached out a hand to Sephiroth, then let it drop. “Sephiroth. I didn’t….”  


“No, by all means, Turk, go on.” The spots of colour high on his cheekbones darkened. “Here I am, come to my dying father’s bedside to bid him adieu, and what do I find? A ragged crow berating him, accusing him of vile acts that everyone knows to be untrue.” He dropped the gentile language and faced Vincent, his head drawn back like a cobra ready to strike. His hand closed on the end of the hospital bed and the Turk’s eyes flicked to it as the metal crumpled under his grip.  


“Everyone knows you’re a hopeless addict, Valentine. Unstable. Unreliable. They should have put you out of your misery years ago, when you finally crawled back out of whatever sewer you’d fallen into. I know I would have. But that’s what comes of having females and bleeding hearts in charge. Compassion is for fools and idiots. Weak! The whole company has become weak! Even SOLDIER is failing, being consumed by the rot at its core! Spare the rod and spoil the child, as I was taught! As _my_ father taught me! And I hear you accusing him of taking _your_ child from you! Delusions! What child! Some gutter rat squeezed out by a two gil whore and left in a shit heap? Even a child like _that_ wouldn’t want a father like _you_! And I am _certainly not_ your son! You disgust me!”  


Vincent had lost all expression. His eyes seemed to sink farther into their sockets, and the grooves on either side of his mouth deepened. He looked away from Sephiroth’s aggressive stare.  


“No.” He suddenly seemed very tired. “He lied to you. He lied to you about so much, Sephiroth. From the very start. He fed you on lies, weaned you on twisted truths, molded you into what you are now. And I failed you. I tried…it took me years, but I never stopped trying, because I needed to get back to you. I knew you needed me. But it was too late. By the time I got here, it was too late. I’m so sorry.”  


“He did NOT lie! He made me tough! What would you have offered me except to make me a failure like yourself! I didn’t need anyone except the Professor! He taught me to stand on my own two feet and to be strong. No quarter given and none asked! And I will make this company strong again! There will be no place for those who need to be coddled! We will be invincible! We will make the human race great again! And we will be one step closer to bringing back the Ancients, who will cleanse the Planet and bring in the new order with their chosen ones by their sides!”  


By now Sephiroth was foaming slightly at the corners of his mouth, spittle flying, and his eyes were unfocused. All he could see before him now was the mission to seek out others who were like him and make his own utopia where he would be accepted, and loved, and respected. Where he would finally have control. Just like his father had taught him.  


Hojo listened in delight. If he could have, he would have thrown his fist into the air and danced a little jig of joy. All the work, all the training, was coming to fruition before his eyes, and he had managed to live long enough to see it! Who knew it would be that dirty Turk that would be the catalyst? But if Sephiroth needed a scapegoat to justify what Hojo had primed him for his whole life, then he would make a more than suitable sacrifice. The juggernaut would be unleashed on the Planet, removing the stupid and feeble, creating an optimum gene pool so the Ancients could be brought back again. And Hojo’s name would be revered forever, his greatest work, his legacy carried out by his son!  


Lazard listened in horror. What he heard was monstrous, especially coming from his beloved friend. He understood the root of his tirade, who better? They had both been indoctrinated at Hojo’s hands: it was the basis of their bond. But where Lazard remembered a previous life, one with friends and family and laughter and hope, Sephiroth had no such balance.  


But maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe he would listen, if he heard a familiar and trusted voice. He had to try. He had to try to save the man who meant so much to him, and give him a second chance at life and happiness.  


“Sephiroth,” he whispered, then louder, “Sephiroth!”  


He flinched as that fey look was turned on him. He felt like a bug under the glare from a magnifying glass, about to be incinerated by the concentrated heat of the sun. “Seph, it’s me. Lazard. Listen to me. Please. Would you listen to me for just a minute?”  


No! No no no! Hojo was screaming inside his head. Not now! Not to have that snot-nosed little excuse for a SOLDIER interfere now! He had to shut him up before he said anything further!  


Calming his mind so he that could concentrate and operate his neural net without glitching it, Hojo opened one of the files he had prepared but never thought he’d have a need, at this late date, to use.  


_click_  


The sound of a clicker was clear, and cut through Lazard’s soft coaxing like a laser. Both he and Sephiroth stiffened, tense and motionless, muscles trembling involuntarily. Vincent stared at them, confused.  


“weak”  


Hojo’s mechanical voice rasped along their nerves.  


“liar”  


“failure”  


Sephiroth flung back his head and howled like a dog whose master had chained him up and then abandoned him.  


“What…” Vincent looked to Hojo, who of course had not moved, and saw the activity on the computer screen. He lunged forward, intending to rip the net off the Professor’s head and shut down the laptop.  


There was the sound of feet running in the hall, calls of alarm, calls for Security, calls for the doctor STAT!  


Hojo had time for one final command as the Turk reached for him.  


“exterminate”  


And Lazard reacted blindly. The end of his sword appeared though Vincent’s chest. The Turk looked down in surprise, his mouth opening in shock, then he slid down the side of the bed, dragging the net, and the respirator hose, with him.  


An alarm began to ring. Hojo knew the nurses clustered in the doorway would never be able to overcome their fear fast enough to save him. This was it. Even as his body and brain panicked over the lack of oxygen and fought to activate unresponsive muscles and draw another breath, a corner of his mind remained calm enough to appreciate what was happening. It was over. He had done what he could to keep his dream alive, even thwarting a last minute interference from his deathbed. He would have the last laugh from the Lifestream.  


He kept his gaze focused on Sephiroth, who had drawn his sword as well, its shining length outstretched above him as if a warrior angel was guarding him during his passing. It was the vision he took down with him into the dark.  


In reality, Sephiroth had no idea he had drawn the Masamune. He had reacted to Hojo’s command just as Lazard had, and neither of them were able to think clearly yet. When the heart monitor flatlined, Sephiroth stared at it, and at Hojo’s unmoving form. Then he noticed the smear of red down the side of the bed and followed it to Vincent’s body slumped on the floor. It dawned on him that both of them were dead. Lazard was crouched in the corner, having dropped his weapon, arms over his head, rocking back and forth.  


“F-father..?” Sephiroth’s normally confident baritone faltered. He sounded like he was ten years old. It was unclear to the horrified onlookers which father he was addressing. It was doubtful that he himself knew.  


“NNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! DON’T LEAVE ME!! DON’T!”  


The Masamune flashed. Blood spurted once, then sluggishly oozed from the raw stump as Sephiroth lifted Hojo’s head from its pillow. Holding it by the hair, he reached down and tore the red scarf off of Vincent’s neck, using it to wrap the head in before he tucked it under his arm.  


The staff scattered as he came towards them, sword outstretched, not caring who else he skewered if they didn’t get out of his way. Almost faster than the eye could follow he made his way through HQ, back to the chopper that was full of supplies and ready for lift off. In his mind, his path was clear. He had been given his mission, and no one would stop him from carrying it out.  


Third Class Lazard Deusericus raced after him. It seemed he’d always been ten steps behind his friend and commanding officer, but this was one time he knew he must catch him. Though his world had just crumbled around him, he couldn’t leave Sephiroth to deal with this alone. He would do what he could to bring him back, and, if he couldn’t do that, he would stick with him until the end of the line.

 **Present Day - Midgar**  


“Twenty minutes to bed time! This is your twenty minute warning!” Cissnei yelled over the ruckus as she edged her way around the seething mass of flesh on the living room floor. Reaching the corner, she plucked the baby from his automatic swing and settled with him in the arm chair. Undoing the top four buttons of her pajama top, she lifted out a breast and nudged the baby’s cheek with her nipple, trying to draw his attention from his siblings and father. It didn’t take much coaxing. Realizing what was being offered, he latched on and within seconds was busily sucking, eyes closed and tiny hand clutching at her flesh like a little starfish. She sighed. One more feeding before she had to go.  


“You heard your mother. Time to settle dowOW!” Kunsel’s head smacked the floor as one of the twins sat on it and tried to rip his ear off. His voice became muffled as the other three dog piled on, determined that their fun wasn’t to end yet. But like the kraken rising from the depths, Kunsel suddenly heaved upward, children hanging from his head, neck and arms. He shook them off like a Guard Hound ridding itself of fleas. They flew in all directions, shrieking and giggling, and then the noise level dropped as they all caught their breath.  


“No more,” said Cissnei to a chorus of disappointed moans and pleading. “But if you ask nicely, perhaps you might get a story.”  


“Yes yes yes yes! Story!” yelled the twins, scrambling to help Kunsel up. They each grabbed an arm and yanked, which was no help at all as they pulled in opposite directions.  


“Hold it, hold on!” Kunsel tried to maintain his balance. He wasn’t worried about himself but he didn’t want to fall on any of the tiny bodies. “Lemme go so I can get into my chair!”  


He had taken his prostheses off to wrestle with the children. Reluctantly, they let him go, and stood back while he planted his hands on the floor, swinging forward to get close to his chair, then hoisting himself into it. It took him a few minutes to adjust his stumps, his right leg having been amputated just below the knee and the left just above. The children waited impatiently; to them, this was just the way daddy was, scars and missing bits and all. Their only concern was getting their story before their mother sent them to bed.  


“There!” Kunsel beamed, his good nature making light of things, especially in front of the kids. “Now, what story are we going to have tonight? Hmm?”  


“Emerald Weapon! Emerald Weapon!” “No! Uncle Rufus trapped in the coal mine!” The twins were loudest in their lobbying and also tended to be rather bloodthirsty in their tastes.  


Kunsel found a Baby Whisper doll being shoved into his lap, and looked down to see his younger daughter’s doe-like eyes staring up at him. “I bet I know what you’d like to hear,” he smiled. “The Touch-Me Frog Prince. Am I right?”  


Freya nodded. “Yeth,” she lisped, leaning against the side of the chair and laying her cheek against his arm. She was daddy’s little girl. “But ith Wowy’s tun.”  


“Oh?” Trust her to keep track. She might be not quite two, but she had a very strong sense of fairness. “Alrighty then. Rory, you get to pick. What would you like to hear?”  


With everyone’s attention suddenly on him, Rory was a bit flustered. Two years ago, it would not have bothered him. But a lot had happened since then. His parents watched his hands twist against each other but kept their silence, waiting for him to speak and wondering what he would say.  


“I…can we hear a story about Professor Hojo?” he asked, and his cheeks flamed, already anticipating the reaction.  


Cissnei’s glance flew to Kunsel, then dropped to the baby in her arms. She tucked her chin in and adjusted him unnecessarily; it was not for her to answer. Meanwhile the twins started wailing. “Awwwww, noooooo! Not Hojo! He’s boooorrriiinnngg!!” and Rory stuck his tongue out at them, yelling back “It’s my turn! I have to listen to your stupid stories! This is my turn to pick!”  


“QUIET!” Kunsel roared. There was instant silence. “Hojo is the choice for tonight, so that’s what it’ll be! Fair is fair, right?” Freya nodded solemnly. “Now, find a spot, you all, while I dig around in the story vault and see what comes up under ‘Hojo’….. hmmmmm…” He rested his head on the back of the chair, closed his eyes and hummed in concentration. “…Hojo…Hojo…let’s see….”  


When he opened his eyes, he saw four little faces looking up at him in eager anticipation. Freya sat on the floor to the right, clutching her doll, her pink nightie spread around her and her thumb in her mouth. Her brown eyes, fine strawberry blond hair and the large freckles covering her face, shoulders and arms made her look like a dappled fawn caught in a beam of sunlight.  


The twins sprawled against each other, front and center, tangled up like two puppies. They were hard enough to tell apart at the best of times, even though they were fraternal, and in their matching green-striped onesies it was almost impossible. At five, they were small for their age, and both had shoulder length hair the bright copper colour of Kunsel’s, and his abundant freckles, and their hazel eyes turned from green to brown to grey depending on their moods. Teagan was older by twelve minutes, and she never let her brother Taran forget it.  


Rory, the oldest at almost eight, was stocky, with blue eyes and just a few freckles across his nose. He had inherited Cissnei’s auburn hair and insisted on it being kept military short. He sat to the left, fists clenched with his thumbs inside and set on his knees, his legs crossed and bare feet tucked under him. His blue pjs had a pattern of cars on them, though he much preferred to play with his chemistry set.  


There was a soft snuffle and Cissnei held the baby up under his arms, turning him to sit on her lap and face his siblings as she rearranged herself and did up a couple of buttons. Henry, or Puddles, as he was affectionately called, was all of five and a half months, bald as an egg with just a tiny amount of reddish fuzz on the top of his skull. He was very plump and had a habit of flapping his fat little arms, hands clenched, an enormous grin silently getting wider and wider until he exploded into a gurgling laugh that was as infectious as it was impossible to ignore. Right now he looked like he was concentrating on something, his eyes like two huge blueberries as he gazed blankly across the room.  


Cissnei stood, grabbing a baby blanket from the swing, and padded across to Kunsel, handing Henry to him and draping the blanket across his right shoulder. “I’ll go make the lunches,” she murmured, and headed to the kitchen. Kunsel propped the baby against his shoulder, gently patting his back. “So,” he said. “A story about Hojo. Once upon a time, in the olden days of yore, when your mother was just a spring chocobo and Uncle Rufus was about eighty pounds thinner...” there was a snort from the kitchen, “Professor Hojo decided that he needed a new monster. Because the monsters that he had weren’t good enough. He was tired of them, and he dreamed of making a monster sooooo scary that no one would ever sleep again!”  


“Kunsel…” came Cissnei’s disapproving voice.  


“What,” he said. “You think these kids scare easy? No way! These are tough kids! They’d chew any monster up and spit it out if it was silly enough to come close to them!”  


“Yeah!” yelled the twins. Freya nodded, and Rory asked cautiously “What kind of monster?”  


“I’m getting to that,” Kunsel said, turning his pats into a slow circular rub on Henry’s back. “So, one day, he went into his lab and closed the door. And he locked it. And he didn’t come out. No one saw him again for months and months. And that is a long, long time!”  


“How did he eat?” asked Teagan.  


“How did he go to the bathroom?” asked Taran.  


“Man, I can’t get anything past you guys, can I? He ate all the snacks in Professor Hollander’s desk, and then when those were gone, he had food sent in. It was left outside his lab door and he’d open the door quickly and get it when no one was looking. And he had a bathroom in his lab. Okay?”  


“Okay!” the two said in unison.  


“Right. So he worked day and night on his new monster. And before you ask, he had a bed in his lab, too, so he could sleep when he got tired. Sometimes he liked to work at night, though, like Uncle Reeve, okay? Okay. So, first he started with tests on his computer, then he grew some tissue in his vats, and then he started to build his monster. It was very difficult and he had to start again many times when things didn’t work out. Sometimes people could hear him yelling and cursing…”  


“Kunsel…”  


“What! These kids know what cursing is, don’t you guys?”  


“Bad words! Like Uncle Reno says!” yelled the twins in glee, punching each other.  


“A hex,” whispered Freya around her thumb. Kunsel blinked at her in surprise.  


“Um, right. You’re all right,” he said. “Bad words that we don’t say, and we don’t use them to hurt people. Alright, so he said some bad words sometimes, and sometimes there was purple smoke that came out from under the lab door, and sometimes there were funny sounds and smells. And sometimes a delivery man brought a box to the lab and left it outside the door for the Professor. You see, he had to shop on-line for some of the parts he needed to build his monster, ones that he couldn’t build himself. Or ones that were on sale and he could get a good deal on, because he was cheap that way. And after he had unpacked whatever he got, he would leave the empty boxes outside his lab for the delivery man to take home and give to his cats. Because they liked sitting in them, like Teagan does.”  


“I do not!” Teagan yelled, offended.  


“Do, too,” said Taran.  


“Yes, you do,” said Kunsel. “And one day the delivery man brought the smallest box yet, just the size of a grapefruit. And what do you suppose was in it?”  


Freya took her thumb out of her mouth. “A bwain,” she said, and then replaced her thumb.  


“Why, yes. A brain! Are you sure you don’t have an extra brain in there, sweets? Hmm?” Kunsel leaned over and gave Freya a noogie and she giggled happily at him while the twins instantly started to smack each other on the head in imitation.  


“Hey! Don't hurt each other's brains, you guys! Now, where was I? Oh, yeah, the smoke and the boxes. So, there were all sorts of things going on in that lab, and people wondered and wondered about what he was doing, and how long he was gonna stay in there. And there were even some people who made bets….”  


“Kunsel…”  


“What! Lay off, woman! Rufus has already taught them how to play poker for gummy worms! They know what betting is!”  


“Did they bet gummy worms?” asked Taran. “I like green ones.”  


“Unca Woof cheatth,” said Freya to her doll.  


“He does??!” Teagan looked horrified.  


“How many gummy worms did they win?” asked Rory.  


Kunsel was mildly alarmed that his children seemed to have such a precocious and unhealthy interest in gambling. This could become a problem. He was going to have to have a chat with Rufus. Before Cissnei did.  


“It doesn’t matter!” said Kunsel. Four pairs of eyebrows were lowered at him in disgust. Of course it mattered! Grown-ups really had their priorities mixed up!  


Suddenly there was a small burping cough and the familiar sour smell of milky baby vomit filled Kunsel’s nostrils as he felt his shoulder get warm and wet. He held Henry up and looked at him. Henry kicked and gurgled happily, wiggling in his father’s hands, and belched again. “Wow!” said Kunsel in admiration. “Bring that up again and we’ll debate on it!”  


“Ewww!” The twins scrunched up their noses.  


“Hah! That was nothing compared to what you two used to do! And I have video to prove it!” Kunsel waggled his eyebrows and grinned wickedly at the pair. “How many gummy worms are you willing to give me to make sure that video never gets into the wrong hands? Like, say, Tommy Bolton’s hands? Hmm?”  


There was a horrified silence and then screaming. “Moooommmmyyyy!!! Daddy’s gonna give Tommy a...a vido!!!” “MOMMY!!! I NEED GUMMY WORMS!!!”  


“Kunsel….”  


“Relax, kiddos,” Kunsel chuckled, wiping Henry’s face and then settling him into the crook of his arm where he snuggled and yawned, disregarding the din. “I won’t give Tommy anything. Your secret is safe with me. You don’t have to go out and get jobs that pay in gummy worms.” The twins looked at him uncertainly, and he added, “Yet.”  


“Blackmail,” Rory said smugly, and Freya nodded.  


Teagan opened her mouth to yell again but Kunsel cut her off. “ANYHOO! Back to the story! Unless you don’t want to hear the end?” he cocked an eye at her and she hesitated. Taran elbowed her hard in the ribs and she yelped. “Fine! I want to hear the end.” She gave her twin a dirty look. Kunsel waited. “Please.”  


“Excellent! Because how can anyone sleep without knowing the end of a story, am I right?” Kunsel nodded, his left hand absently patting Henry’s diapered bum. “So there were bets. But in the end _no one won_. “He smirked at Rory, who looked disappointed. “Because he stayed in there longer than anyone thought he would. So there. But one day the custodian found the lab door wide open. He was shocked and amazed, I tell you! Flabbergasted! Gobsmacked! He knocked, and called out…. ‘Perfesser?’ ” Kunsel’s voice quavered, doing a credible impression of someone who knew they shouldn’t be in that place at that time. “ ‘Perfesser? Are you in here? Are you alright?’ And then suddenly…” He paused. All the children were leaning in, hanging on his every word. “Suddenly…the custodian heard a baby cry. At least, he thought it was a baby. And that scared the bejabbers…no, that’s not a bad word…it scared the bejabbers out of him! He thought, what kind of monster could sound like a baby! It must be something horrible! It would sound all cute and cry and people would go to see what was wrong with the poor wee babee and then GLOMP! It would grab them and eat them all up!”  


The twins were clutching each other, eyes wide. Rory twitched a little at the GLOMP, his fists tight, but he refused to give in to the urge to inch closer to his siblings. Freya stopped sucking on her thumb, but it stayed in her mouth. She looked ready to bolt, if necessary.  


“The custodian ran! He ran for his life, left his bucket and mop and tore off down the hall, screaming bloo…er, screaming like mad! Of course people heard him, but instead of running away with him to safety, they all ran back toward the lab to see what was going on. Pretty stupid, huh? But that’s the herd mentality for you. Kids, if I have one piece of advice for you, it’s don’t be part of the herd. The herd will get you into trouble every time. Listen to your old man, alright? Don’t be afraid to do your own thing. Think for yourself! March to the beat of your own drum! Don’t just accept what you’re tol…”  


“Daddy!” Rory was yanking on his pant leg. “Daddy, what about the monster!”  


“Hmm? Oh! Oh, yeah! The monster! So, everyone ran to see what Professor Hojo had been doing in his lab all those months, and what was making that awful noise! They were pushing and shoving to get a look in the door…really, they were sitting ducks! Nice, fat, juicy ducks! And they heard that crying noise for themselves…WAH WAH WAH!” Henry jerked awake at the sound of another baby crying and started to cry, too.  


“Kunsel!”  


“Oopsie. Sorry, Pudds. Shhh, shhhh….” Kunsel’s bum patting started again and his other hand tickled Henry’s tummy. The baby hiccupped and started to suck wetly on his fist, quieting.  


“The crying got louder and louder, and then Professor Hojo came out of the lab. The crowd fell back, wondering if they should run. A little late, I say, but that’s how most people’s minds work. Always a day late and a gil short. But here came the Professor, and in his arms was a small bundle. He held it up, so that the blanket it was wrapped in fell away, and…everyone stared. The Professor smiled, in that sn…um, that way he has,” Kunsel glanced at Rory, but saw nothing but rapt attention, “and he said ‘Behold!’…well, he didn’t actually say ‘behold’ but it sounds good, doesn’t it, so…he said ‘Behold! My greatest creation!’. And he held up his great monster for them to see. And it cried again, and they saw it actually _was_ a baby! A newborn baby, with a little fluff of hair on top, just like Puddles here, except white, not red.”  


Kunsel sat back. “And that, my dear progeny, is how the greatest monster in the world came to be.” He looked over their heads at Cissnei, who had been standing at the entrance to the kitchen since Henry had cried. He knew that she was there, and that she had heard the whole thing. They locked eyes. “And tomorrow, when you wake up, your mother will be gone, because she has to go catch that monster, and make sure that he doesn’t hurt anyone. So go say goodnight and goodbye to her, and then off to bed! Quick like little Jumpings, now, hop hop!”  


“A baby!” “A baby isn’t a monster!” “Awww, that’s not scary at all!” A chorus of disbelieving voices broke the stunned silence. Rory’s forehead was wrinkled like he was trying hard to remember something. The twins were openly skeptical, while Freya looked thoughtful.  


“Oh?” said Kunsel. “You don’t believe that babies are scary? Well, let me tell you! Babies are the worst monsters ever! And that’s the voice of experience talking! Now, git, you little monsters! Go hug your mama and jump into bed or this papa monster will come eat you all! RROWWRRR!!”  


Henry’s eyes grew big over his slobbery fist at the growl and Kunsel quickly soothed him, jouncing him a bit and blowing raspberries on his tummy until he giggled.  


“Is that how Mama built Henry?” Rory asked. “I didn’t see any delivery man bring her a box.”  


Kunsel bit the inside of his cheek and paused. He supposed it was not a surprise that their kids were sharp as tacks, but, damn, it made story time a challenge!  


“Yes, that’s exactly how your mama built Henry, Rory, you’re right. But the Professor was also using materia to equip the monster, and mako to enhance it, and your mama didn’t use either of those. So Henry isn't a monster. Are you, Puddles-Wuddles?" Henry blew a saliva bubble at his father. "And she had Uncle Rufus bring her the boxes.” Rory nodded seriously, and Kunsel congratulated himself on dodging a potential bullet. The boy had not learned much about materia or mako yet; they had deliberately kept that knowledge from him so far. And Rufus was always bringing them mysterious packages, some of which were for the children, and some of which were not.  


The children flocked to Cissnei, clamoring for hugs and kisses as she herded them off to bed, answering their pleading questions as to why she had to go away again, and when she would be back.  


“Mama, why do you have to go again? Do you really have to kill a monster? The monster Daddy said?”  


“Mama, when will you be back? I don’t want you to go!!”  


“Don’t go, Mama, don’t go, we’ll be good, we promise!”  


“Thtay, Mama, dun go!”  


Cissnei felt her heart break, as it did every time she had to leave. It made her question why she had ever had children in the first place, when it seemed she caused them all pain. Keeping her face and voice calm, she tried to reassure them. “Yes, I have to go, but I’ll be back very soon. I know you’ll be good, I have to go do my job, alright? It’s not your fault I’m going. Yes, it’s the same monster. I have to go make sure that all the little boys and girls of the Planet are safe and can sleep in their beds without worrying, okay?”  


Kunsel listened to her settling them all, making sure everyone had gone to the bathroom, had their drink of water, and was tucked up according to their preferences. It was a while before she came back. Henry was asleep again, and Cissnei took him, carrying him off to his crib, and then it was finally quiet.  


She came back, heaving a sigh as she turned out most of the lights and then bent to retrieve his prostheses. Kunsel stopped her as she went to kneel and put them on for him. “Are they hurting?” she asked, laying a tentative hand on his remaining knee.  


“No more than usual,” he said. “Come up here.” He took her hand and she slid onto his lap.  


Cissnei sighed again, leaning against him. “That was a sneaky way of telling them I had to go again,” she said.  


He chuckled. “I know. But it worked. And they won’t be quite so disappointed when they find you gone in the morning. They’ll remember that you’re out ridding the Planet of the great monster Sephiroth!” He sighed, as well. “It should be me.” A hint of bitterness tinged his voice. “I should be out there, not you!”  


“Shhh,” she murmured. “You’ve done your bit. You got rid of Hojo. That’s even more important than removing Sephiroth.”  


“He may be gone, but his influence isn’t. How do we know…? If there’s any lasting damage…” The anger and fear didn’t need to be hidden between just the two of them, and Cissnei laced her fingers with his, holding tight. There were no words when it came to what they had been through to remove their firstborn from Hojo’s clutches. They could only hope it was enough. “And we still have to find a way to tell him that he’s dead.”  


“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Cissnei said. “Anyway, Cloud has dispatched Angeal and Genesis to Wutai. If we’re lucky, they may be able to find him and take him down before I even get there.”  


“Wutai, huh?”  


“We have confirmed sightings, only a day old. He’s there, with that Third…Deusericus. You remember him.”  


“I remember.” Kunsel’s face was dark. “I’m surprised Cloud didn’t go after him himself. I know he feels this is partly his fault. Sephiroth looked up to him so much, aspired to be like him. Cloud thinks if he had only spent more time with him, he might have been able to mitigate some of Hojo’s influence.”  


“I know he feels responsible. But he’s not. Sephiroth was always…bent. Wrong.” Cissnei shivered, remembering those icy eyes. “Hojo made him that way. And we can’t have all the First Classes running off willy-nilly. Cloud is needed here, as Director of SOLDIER, to maintain order and present a show of strength. And to protect Midgar, if worse comes to worst.”  


“And why is the Director of Administrative Research running off into the field again, hmm? Is she not as important to Midgar’s safety? And to her family?” Kunsel nuzzled her hair, one hand straying over her hip and pulling her close.  


Cissnei frowned. It was an old argument between them, and one she was not going to get into now. “You know why,” she said. “We work behind the scenes. Our visible presence tends to be more disconcerting to the populace, not reassuring. Rude is perfectly capable of handling things here, and he’ll keep me appraised. I need to go because Valentine was one of ours. He was my responsibility. And because this is a mission that requires the talents of both Turks and SOLDIER, and Genesis will throw a wobbly if I send anyone other than a senior member. We need him to cooperate.”  


Kunsel said nothing. Cissnei squeezed his hand. “There’s a fresh bottle in the fridge, if Henry wakes early. I pumped another and put it in the freezer with the rest. If you run out, you’ll have to use the formula. The lunches are packed for Rory and the twins, and there’s one for Freya, too, so she doesn’t feel left out. Let her have a playroom picnic or something. Rufus will be here in the afternoon, after his meetings. The spare room is made up for him.”  


“Right.” They had been through this many times before. Kunsel was more than capable of taking care of everything, but it made Cissnei feel better to go over it. “Anything else?”  


Cissnei let go of his hand, and slowly worked her wedding ring off her finger. It was just a plain gold band, but she didn’t wear it on missions, not wanting to lose it. She held it up, and Kunsel took it. It was too small for any of his fingers, so he had had a chain made to wear it on when it was required. For now, he placed it carefully in his breast pocket.  


“Keep it safe for me?” Cissnei asked softly.  


“Always,” Kunsel assured her.  


She nodded, kissing his chin. “Mmm. You smell like baby puke. Sexy.”  


Kunsel laughed. “You really think so? I only wear this fragrance for you, you know!”  


“Mmhmm. If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have had babies two, three, four or five,” she teased, pulling his head down for access to his mouth.  


He sighed. “Come home soon. Come home safe.”  


And they sat quietly in the dark.

 **Present Day – Wutai**  


The city had burned a week ago. Refugees were still streaming into the countryside, looking for water, food, medical aid, a place to hide. The surrounding villages were overwhelmed. People were cut down as they fled. Men, women, children, single or in groups. It didn’t matter. The carnage spread up the delta like ink spilled from an overturned pot. They never knew where the next strike would come from. There was no safety.  


Now Death had come to their small cluster of huts. He had woken to his father shouting, his small siblings screaming, his mother holding her hand over his mouth. She had torn a hole in the back of their hut and sent him through it, telling him to run to the swamp and not look back.  


Of course, he had. As soon as he had found a stand of swamp grass that could hide him, he had burrowed into the muddy roots and watched, biting his own arm to keep from making any noise as his family was slaughtered and their home set alight.  


Silhouetted against the flames, he saw a tall figure with streaming silver hair, holding aloft a red bundle and shrieking incoherently as his long blade rose and fell. A smaller figure guarded his back, and the two of them left destruction in their wake.  


His black eyes were wide, reflecting the flames and full of the memories of that night that would never leave him. With the taste of his own blood in his mouth, Tseng swore a silent oath to avenge his family, his village and his country, never dreaming where that journey would take him.


End file.
